


I'd Love to Change the World

by ShadowJaySmith



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Clintasha - Freeform, Crime AU, F/M, Marvel Universe, fosterson
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-30
Updated: 2016-02-15
Packaged: 2018-03-26 10:23:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3847369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadowJaySmith/pseuds/ShadowJaySmith
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Natasha is one of New York City's finest, having solved some of the toughest cases with the rest of her team, and they now face a new opponent, one who leaves only death and dark purple arrows in his wake. But this vigilante seems to be leaving the 12th precinct a message, and it's up to these detectives to decipher it before it's too late.</p><p>Avengers AU- Clintasha, with moderately large hints of Fosterson, Darcy/Ian, and undecided pairings. Hopefully an all-avengers fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. At the Corner of West 45th and 11th

Glassy Polaroids surrounded by messy handwriting of varying colors glinted dully under the station’s old fluorescent lights. She frowned at the whiteboard and leaned against the table behind her, biting her lip pensively. She unfolded her arms and pushed herself away from the table, and began to pull all the pieces of neatly organized paper off the shiny white surface.

 

“Oh my god, _Natasha_!” the man behind her said exasperatedly, putting his hand across his eyes and adjusting his feet on the wooden table, “You’ve re-arranged the board five times; I don’t think it’ll be speaking to you anytime soon; we need a break.”

 

“Correction: you _want_ a break.” She retorted, never letting her eyes leave her work as she gently put them all back up in a different way. She heard him groan behind her but elected to ignore it. After she’d finished, she sighed and turned around, pulling off her gray blazer and rolling up the sleeves of her button down shirt.

 

She pressed her palms against the faux, wood table and looked over the crime scene photos and partial prints of the purple ink variety. She glanced up at the guy who sat across the table from her, “Tony, wake up.”

 

“Urgh,” he groaned as a second man came in the room and slapped one of his feet, which were crossed at the ankles while simultaneously passing Natasha a beer.

 

“Feet off the table.” He said warningly.

 

“Thanks Steve.” She said softly and then took a long sip, still staring at the photos.

 

“Tash, just admit it, your weird physic, crime-solving voodoo isn’t working right now—” Tony said, pulling his feet off the table and trying not to yawn.

 

“—Do you take _anything_ seriously?” Steve turned to him incredulously, and Tony turned to raise his eyebrows at the other detective.

 

“Both of you shut up.” Natasha said before Tony could reply, “Steve, say it all again— _slowly._ ”

 

As Steve opened his mouth, Tony began to protest, “Natasha you’ve made him say it twenty-something times now, can’t we just call it a night—?”

 

“You wanna talk, Tony? Then why don’t you say it?” She snapped and Tony rolled his eyes, sighed and straightened up. She began pacing back and forth.

 

“As far as we can tell, the victim, Alexandra Morgenstern, left her apartment at about quarter past ten, and walked half way down the street before being brutally murdered at the hands of an unknown assailant.”

 

“What else?” She said, furrowing her brow and pausing to take another sip of her beer.

 

Tony sat even farther forward on his chair, becoming more and more into telling the story and trying to fill in the blanks. He may be a snarky asshole, but he was a pretty good detective. “There was also a mysterious withdrawal from her bank account around the time of death, implicating either she was doing something suspicious or someone was doing something suspicious to or with her and/or her money.”

 

“Who are the suspects?”

 

“Well first off there’s her shady ex-boyfriend—” Steve said, beginning to count on his fingers and Tony nodded vigorously.

 

“—Yeah, yeah, he’s super shady.” He said, beginning to use his fingers to count as well, “There’s also her neighbor, uh, what was his name again?”

 

“Adam, Adam Schwartz.” Steve supplied and Natasha nodded, her brain processing everything at hundreds of miles an hour.

 

“Right, yeah, and he’s got priors—”

 

“—But nothing that would paint him as a murderer,” Natasha said, stopping at the whiteboard and moving his mug shot over from suspects to simply persons of interest, “I don’t think it was him.”

 

“Alright well, there’s also her father who’s mysteriously disappeared.” Steve suggested.

 

“Also, there’s that girl Tiffany, uh, Shapiro, right?” he looked to Steve for confirmation, and he nodded, “Yeah, I get a weird feeling off of her.

 

“You get a feeling off her?” Steve raised an eyebrow at his partner, “What are you, psychic now?”

 

“No, Natasha’s psychic, I’m just good at reading people.” Tony said in a very self-assured tone of voice.

 

“ _Sure_.” Natasha said sarcastically, smirking as she took another sip of her beer.

 

“Hey,” Tony said as they both laughed, Steve more obviously than Natasha, “I’ll have you two know I’m very good at reading people—”

 

There then came a sharp knock on the door, followed by the immediate entrance of a dark-haired woman of average-height. “Oh good,” she nodded to them and then turned to someone outside the room, “they’re in here!”

 

“What—?” Natasha protested as a couple guys came into the room and began to take away all the information of the case, “what’s going on?”

 

“Maria what are you doing?” Steve said, standing up out of his chair as Tony looked on with mild interest.

 

“We’re bumping this case up to Drew—” She began before Natasha interrupted her.

 

“—What the hell, Maria? You can’t just—” She said angrily, taking a step closer to Maria.

 

“—Captain’s orders, Natt.” She said firmly, and Natasha pushed past her and out the door, brushing past the people in the station with ease.

 

“Natasha!” Steve yelled from behind her, walking awkwardly around people bustling around the station with Tony on his heels and Maria on his. “Natasha stop!” he called just as she burst into the captain’s office.

 

“Sir!” She snapped and he put up a finger to silence her.

 

“…Yes mister mayor, I’m putting my best people on it.” He said calmly into the phone as Natasha stood, fuming, in front of his desk, with her partners and Maria in the doorway behind her. “Thank you.” He said, hanging up the phone.

 

“Sir, we were in the middle of working on that case, you can’t just—” Natasha began.

 

“— _Actually_ ,” he said loudly, interrupting her, “I _can_ , you know why, Romanoff?” He said, leaning forward and folding his hands on his desk as she sighed angrily and rolled her eyes. “Because I’m the damn captain of this precinct and if you have a problem with that then this city’ll be sad your brain’s gone, but I sure as hell won’t be sad about the departure of your attitude.”

 

She bit back a retort as Tony coughed slightly followed by Steve elbowing him in the ribs. “Do I make myself clear?”

 

“Crystal.” She said.

 

“Now,” He said, standing up from his chair and walking around his desk so he could lean against it, “you know who I just got off the phone with?”

 

“The Mayor?” She said rhetorically.

 

“The Mayor.” He said pointedly, “Do you know why?”

 

“No.” she said quietly.

 

“Well it was because I was bumping you jackasses up to the lead case; a top priority in the eyes of Alexander Pierce himself. He called me up and said ‘Nick, I need your best detectives on this one’ and I said ‘Well, Sir I’ve got just the people for it’ but I guess that they’d rather take a normal homicide case over what could be the bust of a lifetime.”

 

“Natasha doesn’t speak for all of us, I would actually rather the—” Tony began to speak before Steve elbowed him again.

 

“Alright what is it?” Natasha sighed.

 

“Homicide,” He said, walking slowly back around his desk and sitting down, “an alley near the corner of west 45th and 11th.”

 

Natasha nodded and left with Steve and Tony right behind her. She drove silently as they talked about this and that, usually arguing, until they reached the crime scene. As they stepped out of the car, she tucked her hair behind her ear, and pulled her coat a little closer to her body. There was always something about crime scenes that made the air feel a little colder; it was probably the whole dead body thing.

 

“Hey, Thor.” Tony said, slapping the cop who held the tape up for them on the shoulder.

 

“Hey Tony, Steve,” He looked to Natasha, nodding slightly in her direction, “Nat.”

 

“So, have you applied yet?” Steve asked kindly.

 

“No, not yet.” Thor shook his head.

 

“Oh come on, you’re smart enough, you just gotta go for it.” Tony said as they reached the body. “Oh, well that’s disgusting.” He said looking at the corpse.

 

“Hi, Jane,” Natasha said as the dark-haired woman walked over to them, followed by her slightly green intern, “you alright there, Darcy?”

 

“This is one of the most disgusting things I’ve ever seen,” She said blankly, “and that’s saying a lot, because I’ve seen some _pretty_ gross shit in my time. I’m too young for this! I’m only twenty five and I’ve already seen too many dead bodies!”

 

“Alright, that’s enough just,” Jane paused, at a loss for words, “go give these to Selvig.” She said, handing Darcy an evidence bag. “Hello,” She smiled turning back to the detectives, “Nat, Steve, Tony,” she paused slightly as she looked at the beat cop next to Natasha, “Thor.”

 

Natasha smirked, as Thor nodded awkwardly, “Jane.”

 

“Okay, what’ve we got, Jane?” Natasha said.

 

Jane walked around the body, “So, so far, we count five puncture wounds, two in the chest cavity, one in the clavicle, one in the humorous, and one that went through the lower abdomen and hit the spinal chord.”

 

“How much force would you need to have that kind of effect?” Steve said, frowning disgustedly at the body.

 

“Well, I haven’t done the exact math but he’d have to be very close to the victim or maybe use a high-powered cross-bow?” She shrugged, “I’m not really sure but in addition to that, he also sustained three broken ribs, four broken fingers, all on his left hand, and a distal radius fracture.”

 

“Huh?” Tony tilted his head slightly.

 

“A broken wrist,” Thor supplied, looking at Tony who nodded, as everyone else stared at him in wonder.

 

“That’s right,” Jane said, slightly amazed, “I know you want to be a detective Thor, but maybe you’re trying out for the wrong department.”

 

“Okay so,” Tony said, changing the subject after a moment of silence, “either our guy has really bad aim, or he was torturing this guy.”

 

“Yeah, but why?” Steve raised an eyebrow and flipped his notebook shut.

 

“Well Doctor Selvig hasn’t done a full autopsy yet, so that might tell us more.” Jane said, as a bunch of guys came over and began to put the body into a bag that had holes cut into it for the sake of the arrows.

 

“Alright, thanks, Jane, tell me as soon as you get an ID on our vic, and get Darcy to send me the photos as fast as you can.” Natasha said, using her pen to point at the guy taking the crime scene photos.

 

“Sure thing.” Jane nodded, and turned and went off to help Selvig.

 

“What kind of crazy bastard uses a bow and arrow to kill someone?” Steve asked as they walked to the car.

 

“Probably someone who wasn’t pre-meditating it, but other than that, I got no clue.” Natasha shook her head.

 

“Crime of passion?” Steve said disbelievingly.

 

“Yeah right.” Tony scoffed as they buckled their seatbelts.

 

“No,” Natasha looked at them and Steve shook his head.

 

“You can’t mean—”

 

“—Oh shit,” Tony said, “you think we’ve got a vigilante on our hands,”

 

Natasha just put the car in reverse and pulled out of the alley they’d been parked in. “Tony, it’s your turn to buy the coffee tomorrow,” he groaned from the backseat and she ignored him, “but right now, we gotta go home and get some rest.”


	2. Something Wicked This Way Comes

“Georges Batroc,” Steve placed a mug shot on the white board.

 

Natasha chewed on the back of her pen and stared at the victim’s face. “Now why would anyone want to kill him?” Tony said sarcastically and Steve looked at him with the world’s most contemptuous eyes. “I mean, look at this guy, better yet—look at his rep sheet.” He passed Natasha the incriminating sheet of paper. “This guy was up to his ears in organized crime; B&Es, assault, assault and battery, attempted murder—”

 

“—Okay, we get it,” Natasha nodded, passing Steve the rep sheet so he could copy it onto the board in his signature blue marker.

 

“Uh, hello,” someone with a slightly watered-down English accent said awkwardly behind them.

 

“Hey, Ian,” Natasha smiled, standing up from where she’d been sitting on Steve’s desk, “what’ve you got for us?”

 

“Well, I just figured I’d look into the victim’s bank accounts and I found this,” he said, handing her a packet, and leaning over and pointing at a sum he’d highlighted, “and I’d already seen his rep sheet so, where does someone like that get this much money transferred to him?”

 

“How much was it?” Steve asked, the crease between his eyebrows ever present on his other wise perfectly sculpted face.

 

“Forty- _million._ ” Ian said gravely.

 

“Holy _shit_!” Tony yelled, pulling his feet off of Steve’s desk and standing to grab the sheet from Natasha’s hands.

 

“That’s what I said!” Ian yelled, watching the paper as it traveled to Steve’s hands and then, after a moment, onto the white board. “And I started looking a little further back, and every couple of months, he’d put in a new deposit for forty-million.”

 

“He should be rich, like living in the 90210 rich,” Tony said, looking from the paper’s new perch and back to the tech intern, “what happens to the money?”

 

“Most of the time, he uses it up slowly—”

 

“—How slowly?” Natasha asked abruptly, and Ian shrugged.

 

“As slowly as you can with that kind of money, so like by the ten thousands.”

 

“Can we trace the money?” Steve asked and Natasha shook her head, guessing what Ian confirmed a second later.

 

“He’d take it out in cash; fifties and hundreds.” Ian said, and when Tony looked at him funny, “What? I called the bank and asked; I do my homework.”

 

“Alright, what ever.” Tony said.

 

“Hello humans from the land of the living,” Darcy said and she walked over to them. She often called the upper levels of the precinct the land of the living (for obvious reasons), and referred to the lab as either the dungeon or zombieland. “Here are those crime scene photos that you asked for, and that were left on my desk for a day and a half.”

 

“It’s alright.” Natasha shrugged and began to flip through them.

 

“Hi, Darcy.” Ian said and she turned to him.

 

“Ex-zombie.” She said curtly, and with that turned and left. She still held a grudge about his transfer from the CSI squad (as she frequently called it) to the tech department, saying he’d been cured of the zombie virus.

 

“I can’t do anything to appease her.” Ian said in an annoyed tone of voice.

 

“She’ll come around.” Natasha said blankly, suddenly engrossed in the photos. “But in the meantime, you should probably go help Bruce with the Hunter case.”

 

“Yeah, alright, bye.” Ian nodded and pushed himself away from Tony’s desk, of which he’d been previously leaning on, and shuffled away dejectedly.

 

“Poor sucker.” Tony said, and Steve gave him a side glare. “So, what do you think we should do now?” Tony said, changing the subject.

 

“Maybe we could go door to door, ask if anyone saw anything?” Steve suggested, and Natasha shook her head.

 

“Even if they did, they wouldn’t talk.” She said, walking over and starting to put up the Polaroids and trying not to remember things that had begun to resurface.

 

“Are these them?” Someone said behind the detectives, and they turned to see the mayor walking out of the captain’s office.

 

“Yes, this is detectives Rogers, Stark and Romanoff.” The captain said nodding to each of them in turn.

 

“It’s very nice to meet all of you in person,” He said, shaking each of their hands, “you’re doing this city a great service.”

 

“Just doing our job, sir.” Steve said.

 

“Yeah, speaking of our job, what’s got you so interested in this case,” Tony said, squinting slightly at the graying man, “crazy shit like this has happened before and you haven’t paid much attention, so what’s got you so interested in this one?”

 

“ _Tony_ ,” Steve said as though Tony had greatly embarrassed and/or offended them, but Natasha had to admit that’s what she’d been thinking as well, although she had the willpower enough to hold her tongue.

 

“No, no, that’s alright, you detectives have gotta have the whole picture don’t you?” The mayor laughed good-naturedly, “I just don’t want this to become a pattern; someone like this could really hurt our city, socially and economically. As if we haven’t got enough troubles with crime already, then a madman with a deadly and unusual weapon will just make matters much, much worse.”

 

“Natt, Steve, Tony!” Maria ran over to them, “You’re up; get your coats.”

 

“What happened?” Steve asked, taking two long strides to Maria’s side.

 

“Your killer struck again, but this time the vic survived; he’s in general right now.” Maria then noticed the mayor, “Mister Mayor, it’s very nice to see you again.”

 

“I’m very sorry sir but, we’ve got to—” Natasha started, but he interrupted her.

 

“No, I’ll come with you, I’ve got to see this for myself.” He said, pulling on his coat.

 

“Alright,” Natasha said, finding his idea slightly strange.

 

Tony always got weirdly excited when they put on the siren, and so he seemed to be practicing his badass face, if not his just serious face, in the backseat of her car. “Tony, you’re weird, cut it out.” She said, her gray eyes watching him through the rearview mirror.

 

Steve smirked slightly and tightened his grip on the door as she swung around a sharp corner, and pulled into the hospital parking lot. As they walked in, they got a few odd stares since the mayor of New York City was walking in with them.

 

“Sorry,” someone said, and they turned to see that someone had walked into Pierce. Although he apologized, his dark eyes conveyed a different truth, one much angrier and more sinister.

 

“That’s alright.” The older man nodded kindly, and watched the back of the other man’s head a little confusedly as he walked very quickly out of the building.

 

The lady behind the des kindly directed them to Natasha’s favorite doctor; the young, blonde and very calm Sharon Carver, who also happened to be the detective’s roommate.

 

“Mayor Pierce, this is Doctor Sharon Carver.” Natasha said, introducing them.

 

“Actually, still in training, but nice to meet you anyways.” Sharon said kindly, extending her hand to him.

 

“What’ve we got?” Natasha said, smiling slightly at the pretty girl.

 

“Well, he’s not bad as I’m told the last one was, but you can tell me,” she said as they walked down the hallway, Steve and Tony on either side of the two women, “he got an arrow in his right thigh, and another in his shoulder.” They stopped in front of a closed door, and she handed Natasha the folder holding all the information, “He’s also got a couple fractured ribs and a broken toe, but I think that happened before he was attacked.”

 

“What can we expect about his personality?” Steve asked, looking at her with his usual, serious face, concentrated only on the task at hand.

 

“Well he’s not a ray of sunshine, I can tell you that.” She said as though she’d tried to talk to him and gotten nothing but rude comments. “I don’t like to judge books by their covers but, I‘m pretty sure he’s got a criminal record.”

 

“Steve it’s your turn,” Natasha nodded to him, and handed him the folder,

 

“Brian Duhame?” Steve asked calmly as they walked into the room.

 

“What is this, the Spanish inquisition?” The man said from where he lay in the hospital bed. Although he was weak, his gross attitude and personality were as strong as any, and just from that one sentence Natasha could tell exactly what kind of person he was.

 

“I understand that you’re in a lot of pain, but we need to ask you some questions.” Steve replied calmly, but his hand twitched slightly, like it always did when something was annoying him.

 

The man nodded, and Steve flipped open his little notebook, and began to ask the normal, rudimentary questions, as if this were any other kind of investigation. Natasha smirked, remembering all the times Tony had made fun of him for that stupid notebook, but, if anything, Steve was a man of tradition.

 

“Son, I promise, these detectives will do everything in their power to bring down the man who’s doing this.” Mayor Pierce said, patting the guy on the shoulder, as Natasha internally rolled her eyes; _politicians_ , she said with a look to Tony who quirked his eyebrows in agreement.

 

“But, uh, in the meantime, could you work with a sketch artist?” Steve asked, as Sharon came softly into the room to go over and check some of the monitors next to his bed. Steve’s eyes followed her for a second, as if he were checking to see if she was a threat, “We’d just like to get a picture of him.” He said, his eyes still resting on the back of the blonde’s head suspiciously.

 

“Yeah, sure thing.” He said through his heavy New York accent.

 

Steve nodded and they left one after the other, Natasha leaving last, to smile goodbye to her roommate. Just as she left the room, she could just hear Pierce as he walked in front of Steve and gave out directions like a sargent.

 

“…And I want this cleaned up and solved immediately; our city’s got enough trouble as it is without some madman with a bow and arrow running around and terrorizing our citizens.”

 

She caught up with Tony, who was looking slightly morose, “You’re awfully quiet,” She stated, “you alright?”

 

“Yeah, just hoping Legolas doesn’t put too many arrows in me for getting on his case.” He replied and Natasha laughed.

 

“I doubt he’d come after us directly; that’s too public,” She said as they caught up with Steve and the Mayor, who were starting to walk out the front door. “and from what I can tell, he’s more of a…”

 

She trailed off, something out of the corner of her eye catching her attention; two people, a boy and a girl, looking to be in their early twenties, sitting in chairs right next to the doorway. He had hit hat pulled over his forehead, but she still recognized him as the guy that’d bumped into Pierce as they’d walked into the building. His poorly died blonde hair and clothes of varying shades of blue contrasted with the girl’s dark hair and red jacket. She didn’t really know why they caught her eye; just the way they were sitting seemed to resemble the way Steve and Tony looked when the three were on a stakeout.

 

“…Man of the shadows,” she finished, pulling her eyes away from the pair, and frowning as they walked out of the building, her mind was now moving at millions of miles an hour.

 

The sun was very bright as they walked out, and the three detectives stood, watching as the mayor walked to his car, telling them to figure this out fast and that he didn’t like the people of this city being scared. Just as his bodyguard was about to open the door for him, something began to shine in Natasha’s eye. She leaned slightly to the side, trying to see what it was, but she suddenly felt a searing pain on her arm, her other hand covering the area reflexively.

 

Suddenly, the world was in slow motion. She lifted her hand to find it covered in blood and a large gash cut through her jacket. She turned slowly, tracing the path the bullet must have taken, and found one of the mayor’s bodyguards fallen against the brick wall of the hospital.

 

And there was a dark purple and black arrow sticking out of his eye.

 

The bodyguard next to mayor shoved him into the car. Tony ran to the guy, and knelt down next to him, checking his pulse. Steve and Natasha got down behind a car, pulling their handguns out of their holsters. They watched as the mayor’s car sped away, Natasha swallowing hard, and popping up over the car to look around. Her eyes ran over every building, until she saw an open window, on the corner of a building, three blocks away.

 

“There.” She said, pointing, and Steve shook his head.

 

“That shot would be impossible,” He said disbelievingly, “no one could make that with a rifle, let alone a bow and arrow.”

 

“He could,” Natasha said, “and he just did.”


	3. Arsonist's Lullaby

“Why’d you do it?” She said, frowning at him.

 

“Do what?” He asked calmly, pulling off his jacket and beginning to count his arrows.

 

“Spare her.” She said, tilting her head slightly and watching him.

 

He stayed silent for a moment, then replied, “She could be useful.”

 

“How could you possibly—” The boy said from where he leaned against a table, frowning at the older man.

 

“—Even from far away, I could see it; she doesn’t trust him, even if she doesn’t really know it yet.” He said, looking into her eyes as if trying to convince her.

 

“There’s a big difference between mistrust and what we want.” She said softly, knowing how dark their mission seemed to be,

 

“What do we want exactly?” He challenged and she looked at him in a mildly confused manner.

 

“Justice.” The boy spoke, the other two turning to look at him, “Justice against the man that killed our parents.”

 

“Along with countless others.” She said, finishing his sentence.

 

“She’s a detective, someone who can help us from the inside, find stuff we haven’t found yet, and when we finish, take the credit for the bust of a lifetime.” He said, and neither of the other two protested.

 

“I hope you’re right about this.” The younger man said in his strange, dark manner.

 

* * *

 “Hey, you know what we could call him?” Tony said, his feet atop his desk, playing with a pencil.

 

“What?” Thor said form the chair next to the detective’s desk of which he sat in quite peculiarly.

 

“Hawkeye.”

 

“No.” Steve said looking up from the paperwork he’d been looking through.

 

“I actually quite like it.” Thor said as though he was rather impressed.

 

“Thor,” Natasha said as she came over to her desk, putting her coat on the back of her chair, trying not to smile too much through her stern look, "don’t encourage him.”

 

“Whatever, Natt, I like it,” Tony shrugged, and then noticed someone over Natasha’s shoulder, “Hey Steve, it’s you’re girlfriend,” he said quietly, “let’s see what she thinks.”

 

“Tony, you little—”

 

“Hey, Maria!” He called, making her stop and turn to them, as he stood to just sit back down on his desk cross-legged, “What do you think of the codename Hawkeye.”

 

“For your vigilante?” She said, stopping and frowning as if giving it deep thought as Steve kept his back to her, his face morphing through various shades of purple and pink. “I like it.”

 

“See? She knows.” Tony said, using his whole hand to point at her, “You two,” he said pointing back and forth between Thor and Maria “are my only friends.”

 

“Whatever, Tony,” Natasha said rolling her eyes and smiling at Maria as she turned to leave.

 

“Fine, well, I’m going to take my genius down to the break room,” Tony said, pushing himself off his surprisingly neat desk and pointed at Thor, “you coming with?”

 

“Sure,” the man shrugged, and they got up to leave, just as Bruce left his little tech room, with Ian on his heels.

 

“Bruce, just the man I wanted to see…” Was the last they heard from Tony as the four men stepped into the elevator.

 

Natasha began to re-organize the folders on her desk, Steve watching her with a sad look on his face. “Where’ve you been, Natasha?”

 

“What?” She said softly.

 

“You’ve been gone for two and a half hours, Natasha.” He said standing up the try and look in her eyes, as she avoid his crystal blue ones. “You know that you can tell me anything, Natt.”

 

“I know,” She said, and he nodded and sat down, _you’re just not ready to hear this one, and I’m not ready to speak it,_ she thought.

 

_“So, the hospital was the first time you’ve seen combat since the incident, right?” A woman asked patiently, as the redhead next to her on the park bench nodded, “How are you feeling?”_

_“Fine.” She replied firmly._

_“It wasn’t your fault, Natasha, you have to let it go.” Her soft British accent, watching the redhead over her hotdog, covered daintily in bright yellow mustard, a bright contrast against her dark purple gloves, coat, and scarf._

_“Then whose fault was it, Peg?” Natasha replied after she swallowed a bite she’d just taken, and when the British woman didn’t answer she turned to look at her with an accusing eyebrow raised. “Hmm? Was it the fault of the gun, or the woman who couldn’t pull the trigger?”_

_The other woman didn’t falter, except for taking a small glance at the ground to think of her response. It wasn’t that Natasha didn’t like her therapist; it was just that she didn’t want to remember the moment she’d slipped. “When are you going to forgive yourself, Natasha?”_

_Natasha shook her head, and they stayed silent for a while, just eating their hotdogs, before the patient asked the question she’d been wondering about since they’d left for the New York streets. “So, why aren’t we in your office anyways? And, more importantly, what’s with the hotdogs?”_

_Peggy laughed, “Well, you did say that you found my office to be quite distasteful, and I thought you might like a change of scenery.”_

_“Well, okay then.” Natasha shrugged, and they were silent for a little while longer before Natasha spoke again, as if in a trance, “I can’t even say her name.” She whispered staring off into the distance, “I can look myself in the eye; I can’t hold my gun still, for Christ’s sake, I mean how can I protect Steve and Tony like this? Maybe I should just—”_

_“—Let’s not start falling into a downward spiral, Natasha.” Peggy said, placing a hand on the other woman’s shoulder, “You know that being on the force is the only thing that will help you heal.”_

_They started at each other for a moment, before Natasha nodded, and looked down at the ground. “Speaking of which, as much as I’d love to stay here with you, we must get back to our jobs.”_

_Natasha nodded again, and threw out the last of her hotdog._

 

That night, she stayed late at the precinct, just staring at what Darcy called the murder board, and capping, and un-capping a dry-erase marker. Her thoughts suddenly fell upon the two kids at the hospital, and how they seemed to have a system; she could’ve sworn something had been watching her at the first crime scene.

 

If there was one thing she’d learned from this job, it was that everyone had a system.

 

For example, the precinct; there was the scientists in the morgue on the lowest floor, Dr. Selvig, Helen, Jane, and their intern Darcy. Then there was Ian, who’d moved up to the tech department with Bruce, and the beat cops, Thor, Sam and Rhodey, which were the only ones she actually liked talking to. Higher up on the chain of command, there were the detectives; there was Natasha’s team, Steve, Tony and herself, and then there was Drew’s team, consisting of Carol, Bobbi and Jessica, whom they rarely spoke of or to. Above them was Maria, and then Captain Fury, and above him, Mayor Pierce.

 

At this point she decided to write down their descriptions of the board, because if she was right (which she usually was) then the two kids worked with or maybe for the vigilante.

 

“Detective Romanoff,” a commanding and slightly menacing voice said behind her, even though he didn’t mean to sound as imposing as he did, “what are you still doing here?”

 

“I could ask you the same.” She retorted, turning confidently, but slightly tiredly.

 

“When I assigned you to this case, it was, for one of many reasons, meant to help you feel better, not to make you lose even more sleep than you already have.” He said and she smirked sardonically.

 

“Sir, with all due respect, a man got shot in the eye with an arrow right in front of me today so, I can’t really rest with that image still burning in the back of my eyelids.”

 

“I can understand that, speaking of which, how is your arm, I heard that your friend, Miss Carver had to patch you up.” He said, always surprisingly patient with her.

 

“It’s fine, nothing really, I just can’t understand how someone could do something like that.” She shook her head and he stopped her as she started to leave.

 

“Didn’t he shine something in your eye just before it happened?” He said, as if starting to make a long and complicated point.

 

“Yes but—”

 

“—He was trying to get you to move,” he said, interrupting her, “always try and see some humanity in these people because otherwise, we’ll never get anywhere.”

 

“What kind of people, sir, the homicidal, psychopathic ones?” she said sarcastically and he shook his head.

 

“Someday, Natasha, someday, when you’ve gotten better, you’ll understand exactly what I mean.”


	4. There's No Easy Way Out of Here

_Everything was quiet; all she could hear was the sound of her own heartbeat and of water dripping off blank, cement walls. A voice, like a ghost sung eerily through these dank halls, making her jump and point her glock at the echoes running across the walls. Fear, like fingers trailing down her ribs ran the length of her spine._

_She came to a corner, and flinched as a droplet of muddy water fell onto her nose. She squeezed her eyes shut momentarily. She took a breath, and jumped around the corner. Her arms were ridged and her fingers stiffened into their position on the handle of the gun, but there was no one there. She found the radio playing the creepy music softly and slammed the stop button, the cassette player clinking to a sudden and sharp stop._

_“Steve,” she said, lowering her gun and talking into her comm, “Steve, they’re not here.”_

_“What’s—down—there?” she heard, the radio cutting out._

_“Oh my god,” She breathed, moving some of the empty plastic containers and tubes around on the table._

_“Natt—going—on—down there?” Tony said, and her mouth fell open._

_“It’s a bomb,” she whispered, “I repeat: **he’s made a bomb**.” She yelled to the men at the other end, beginning to run back to the surface._

 

“There’s a bomb…” she muttered, rolling over in her sleep, “he’s got a bomb… it’s somewhere, somewhere in the,” she swallowed, rolling over again, “it’s out in the city…”

 

_Suddenly, the fire blinded her. Its heat seared her skin even though it couldn’t really hurt her. She flew through the air, gun flying from her hand. She slammed against the wall,_

_Bang._

 

_There was a ringing in her ears, a terrible, high-pitched, blood curdling noise. She opened her eyes blearily, and stood. She stumbled, and caught herself. Her feet tripped over themselves, and she found herself kneeling just outside the blast radius. The two bodies laid in the middle of it, one still holding the other with their arm around their neck._

_She reached up and touched the back of her head, and her fingers came back glistening with scarlet. “Officer Romanoff,” she heard someone call her name, and she turned slowly. “Why didn’t you save me?”_

 

She screamed, jumping up in her bed and pulling the pistol off her night table, pointing it frantically around the room. “Natasha?” someone called, banging on the door, “Are you alright?”

 

Natasha caught her breath, and realized that she was holding the gun and quickly tucked it into the drawer in the nightstand. She padded over to the door and unlocked it, opening it to find her roommates all staring at her worriedly.

 

“Hi,” she said, yawning.

 

“Are you alright, Natt?” Sharon asked, her eyebrows furrowed and contemplative.

 

“Yeah, I’m fine, just had a,” she held the bridge of her nose, “I just had a nightmare, it’s—it’s nothing.”

 

“It didn’t sound like nothing,” Darcy said, walking up from the closet they called her room, rubbing her eyes.

 

Sharon rolled her eyes, and Natasha spoke again, “Sorry, Darcy, I didn’t mean to wake you up, or you Sharon. I’m fine, _really_ , I’ll be okay; it’s nothing a few sleeping pills can’t solve.”

 

She slapped Sharon on the shoulder as she passed, and the doctor rolled her eyes, but decided not to bother with it. Darcy yawned again, and nodded, muttering something about Channing Tatum and then shuffled back off to bed, leaving Sharon standing in the doorway to Natasha’s room. She punched the doorframe lightly then turned around and went into her own room dejectedly. “Fifth time this week,” she muttered, closing her door softly.

 

Natasha splashed water onto her face, and then turned off the faucet gently. She leaned on the lip of the sink and closed her eyes, the water dripping softly off her cheeks. She yanked the towel off the hook where it hung, and wiped her face clean of the colorless liquid. She opened the mirror cabinet and pulled out a bottle and unscrewed the cap. She dry swallowed the pills and put the bottle back into its place, closing the cabinet forcefully.

 

Just as the hinges squeaked shut, she caught something in the corner of her eye. In the reflection of the mirror, a little girl stood behind her. Her hand flew to her mouth so as to not scream. Her breathing, labored and heavy with hidden tears came out from in between her fingers in thin rasps. She turned slowly around, finding no one there. _It was just a ghost, just a ghost;_ she soothed herself, slipping down the sink to fall onto the floor, one hand still gripping the edge of the sink, tears falling softly onto the tiled floor.

 

_What have I done?_

 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

“Our guy’s been awfully quiet lately,” Steve said, putting a folder onto Natasha’s desk.

 

“Where’ve you been?” Tony said implicatively, and Steve blinked. He clenched his jaw and swallowed, obviously hiding a larger truth when he next spoke.

 

“Nowhere.” He said, then turning back to Natasha, “What’d you think he’s doing?”

 

“He’s waiting,” She said, her fingers tangles in the red curls at the crown of her head, the dark circles under her eyes more and more evident as the weeks progressed, “for what, I have no idea.” She said exasperatedly, slamming her hands down onto the table making Tony jump, “What does he want?” she yelled, everyone in the office stopping to look at her.

 

“Natt, calm down,” Steve said, obviously concerned.

 

“Goddamn it.” She said quietly, rubbing her forehead slowly against her palms, clenching her teeth together angrily.

 

“Natasha, you need to take a break,” Tony said, and both she and Steve turned to glare at her, “no, I mean, just go get some air or something, okay?”

 

“Fine.” She said, standing and snatching up her coat.

 

“ _Natasha_ , wait!” Steve called after her, as she reached the elevators and pressed the button forcefully. “Are you okay?”

 

“I’m fine—”

 

“—No you’re not, you look terrible.” He said firmly, “Have you been sleeping well lately?”

 

“No, Steve, I haven’t,” she said, annoyed, “and you disappearing like this all the time makes me wonder whether I can count on you here!” she snapped, immediately regretting it.

 

“Take a walk,” Steve said, ignoring her comment, knowing she didn’t mean it, “come back when you’re ready.”

 

She nodded, but just as the elevator reached their floor, Tony called her name, “Hey, Natt, will you come take a look at this?”

 

She took a deep breath and Steve smiled reassuringly, “I’ll take care of it, go on.”

 

“Okay,” She nodded, turning back to the elevator doors as they opened, revealing someone none of them were expecting, “Mayor Pierce,” she blinked.

 

“Detective Romanoff, Detective Rogers,” he nodded to each of them in turn, walking off the elevators with his two large and angry bodyguards, “I’ve come to check on your progress,” He paused, noticing her coat in her hands, “is this a bad time?”

 

“Oh, no, not at all,” Natasha said quickly.

 

“It’s just, there hasn’t been much development since you last checked in,” Steve said, walking quickly along next to the mayor as he walked over to Tony and the murder board.

 

The mayor’s phone rang, and he held a finger up to Natasha, “I’ll be back in just a minute, I apologize.”

 

“Oh, no problem.” She nodded, putting her coat back on her chair.

 

“Natt, take a look at this,” Tony said, “forensics just got back with their analysis of the arrows, they’ve found a serial number,” he said quietly, and she frowned at him.

 

“Why wouldn’t he just scrape it off,” Natasha asked confusedly, “I mean, he’s got everything else so well planned out, why not this?”

 

“Maybe he wanted us to find it?” Steve suggested and Natasha furrowed her eyebrows even further.

 

“God, why is this case so weird?” Tony said exasperatedly.

 

“So what have you found?” Mayor Pierce asked, tucking his phone into his coat pocket, and standing over them in an imposing manner.

 

“Nothing much, we’ve just gotten…” Tony began, but Natasha stopped listening, the hairs on the back of her neck rising.

 

“Hey, Natasha,” Maria smiled kindly as she walked past, carrying some folders, then stopping, seeing her expression, “Natasha, what is it?”

 

“Something’s wrong;” she said, “it’s too quiet.”

 

“What’d you—” Maria frowned, then a woman came running through the office, her strawberry blonde hair in an unusual state of unkemptness.

 

“Maria, where’s the captain?” she asked, out of breath.

 

“In his office, Pepper, what’s wrong?” Maria asked, looking worriedly at the woman.

 

“A repot came in that there were shots fired in seven places all around the city, and now the force is spread thin,” Pepper said gravely, “and then we got an anonymous tip that we were going to be attacked.”

 

“What?” Natasha said, all the men behind her looking up at Pepper’s story, just as all the windows in the office shattered.


	5. You Can't Fight the Friction

After the smoke bombs were thrown through the windows, the chaos that ensued was suffocating. Fury stood up, gun in hand, “Where’s the shooter? _Find the shooter!_ ” he yelled.

 

“ _Which one?!_ ” Tony yelled, pointing out the obvious fact. _Since when did the vigilante do something this bold?_ Natasha frowned but was puled out of her thoughts when an arrow caught her ear.

 

“ _Sir!_ ” Steve yelled, “ _Get down—!_ ”

 

But it was too late; papers flew through the air and shots went off, an arrow finding its mark in the Captain’s shoulder. Natasha gasped then, half flinging, half dragging herself, she crawled to where he’d fallen against a desk. She paused, remembering the mayor, “ _Steve_!” she yelled, unable to see the tall blonde until he slipped behind the desk next to hers, narrowly avoiding another arrow shot their way. They hid behind a desk together as she gave him orders, “ _Stay with Pierce, don’t let him do anything stupid—_ ” He nodded and she turned to look around after he left for the mayor’s side, “— _where’s Tony?!_ ”

 

Natasha looked over her shoulder to see Tony behind a desk shooting at random from where the shots were originating, Pepper crouched next to him with her hands over her head. He kept looking at her out the corner of his eye and Natasha knew they were safe. She continued her inventory, her eyes searching the safe territory for Maria.

 

“ _Tony!_ ” she called and he ducked behind the desk to look at her, “You got eyes on Maria?”

 

“No!” he called back, shaking his head.

 

“ _Steve!_ ” she called, and when she didn’t get a response, she peeked around the desk and jumped back, an arrow flying past her nose. “Goddamn it,” she muttered, upholstering her gun and cocking it. “Sir, can you hold a gun?”

 

“ _Of course I can!_ ” he yelled, pulling the arrow straight out of his shoulder, “ _Pass me the goddamn glock!_ ” he said and she leaned out quickly to grab the gun that he’d dropped when he’d been shot. Just then, Steve came back around his desk with the Mayor in tow. He made sure Pierce was protected before he stood on his knees, trying to find the arrows’ point of origin, shooting whenever he thought he was close.

 

“ _Tony! Steve!_ ” She called and they ducked behind the desks, Tony re-loading his gun. She turned her attention to Pepper and the Mayor, “ _Listen, you’re going to go with Captain Fury; go down the hall, get to the elevator, and, if you can, make sure they’re okay down in the lab!_ ” she yelled over the gunfire,“ _you two,_ ” she addressed her partners, “ _fan out! Steve, you go left; see if you can find anyone else who needs help! Tony, you go right, try and find the shooter and see if Drew’s team is pinned down over there!_ ”

 

“ _What about you?_ ” Steve yelled as an arrow went straight through his computer screen, sending sparks everywhere.

 

“ _I’m going to find Maria!_ ” She yelled, and then there was a lull in the fire, “ _Get ready! Set—_ ”

 

Suddenly, out of nowhere, an explosion occurred and they all ducked back behind the desks, the detectives covering their respective civilians or captain. “ _What the hell was that!?_ ” Tony bellowed once the dust cleared.

 

Natasha realized that she could hardly see her partners, who were only three feet away from her. “ _Explosive arrows?_ ” Steve asked confusedly.

 

“ _Go, go, GO!_ ” She yelled, electing to ignore this and go with her original plan and they began to sprint off in all four directions, Natasha drawing most of their fire. An arrow pierced one of the tubes leading the cold air to the lab, filling the room with mist, which now mixed with the smoke bombs they threw through the window.

 

“ _Maria!_ ” She yelled, staying low and searching for her friend, “ _MARIA!_ ”

 

Suddenly, someone tackled her. Out of nowhere, three arrows flew through the air just where her head had been. She sat up slightly and blew her hair out of her face. She turned over, expecting to see a familiar face, maybe even Maria, but the form on top of her was too broad and hard. She looked up into the masked face of the vigilante, and was caught off-guard by his piercing blue eyes, the only thing visible underneath the mask.

 

They stayed there for only a second before she shoved him and flipped them over so he was on the ground and she was straddling his waist. She grabbed her gun from the floor, where it had fallen out of her hands. She pointed it directly at the bridge of his nose and he somehow got out from underneath her. She rolled over gracefully, landing on her feet, only to find him still there, as if he was waiting for her to catch up.

 

For some reason, this annoyed her; it was like he was egging her on. She growled slightly and jumped to her feet. With a smirk in his beautiful blue eyes, he fled into the fog. _Oh no you don’t,_ she thought, jumping after him. He ran around some desks, and she tucked her gun in the back of her pants as she ran, jumping over and on top of the desks with ease. She didn’t even stop to wonder who was shooting if he was here. He kept looking behind him to see if she was following, and she kept trying to catch up.

 

She flipped off a desk and caught him right in the jaw with her foot. He stumbled to the ground, as she landed gracefully, completely forgetting about Maria. She was bringing her hands down to hit him again when he blocked her, protecting himself with his forearms. She lifted her knee to maybe get him in the nose while he still knelt on the cheaply carpeted ground, but he threw her arms away and blocked the knee as well.

 

She grabbed a computer monitor off the desk closest to her as he stood and tried to gain his balance. She smashed it on his head. She grabbed him by the front of his jacket and shoved him against the chain-link wall separating the desks from the hall. “Who are you?” She growled, their noses inches apart.

 

Her gray eyes looked back and forth between his blue ones, and he didn’t say a word. He punched her in the stomach, then got his leg in between them and kicked her away from him. She stumbled back, landing against a desk. He came after her and got her once more in the lower abdomen. She cried out, then twisted under his arms when they came to restrain her. She stepped around him so they were back to back. It was like they were dancing, they turned to face each other at the same time.

 

He grabbed her wrists, and she jumped up, kicking him in the stomach, sending him flying backwards. But he didn’t let her go; he brought her down with him. They landed on their sides, facing each other. They both recovered quickly, jumping to their feet with ease. They started circling one another, catching their breath and planning. Their hands tense by their sides, waiting for the other to move.

 

“I’m not your enemy, Romanoff,” he said, “please, listen to me—I don’t want to fight you.” His voice was dark and calm, pleading with her.

 

“You’re a vigilante, and a fugitive from the law,” she said, “why shouldn’t I fight you?”

 

She took a step forward and kicked, aiming for his face. He ducked, and she landed on one foot, kicking with the other without taking a breath. He stayed low, then came up, jabbing her shoulder forcefully and catching her other hand as it went for his neck.

 

He shoved her against the wall, “Natasha, _stop!_ ” he yelled and her noise twitched at the use of her first name, “Look at where you are, what’s happening around you,” he said, never breaking eye contact.

 

Their labored breath was mingling, and their eyes were shadowy and the smoke around them was hiding every thing but their heat. “Think,” he said, looking desperately into her eyes, “I’m not you’re enemy, Natasha,”

 

“How do I know that?” she challenged and he leaned ever so closer.

 

“If I’m here,” he leaned to whisper into her ear, “who’s attacking you guys?”

 

She stopped, and looked behind him, “ _Duck!_ ” she yelled, tackling him.

 

They fell to the floor, and she looked back to see an arrow stuck in the wood paneling just where their heads had been. She looked around and saw arrows in everything, _there must be at least fifteen shooters for this many arrows,_ she thought, doing the math in her head. She’d been so wrapped up in fighting him that she hadn’t even noticed the projectiles still flying through the windows at random. Somewhere, when she’d been chasing him, she’d known that he couldn’t be behind this specific incident but she’d just wanted to catch him. She’d started to turn into one of the people she hated the most; the ones who just found a scapegoat and didn’t actually solve case for anything but the splash in the newspapers.

 

She looked down and realized she was still on top of him, but he wasn’t struggling. She pulled out her gun again and pointed it at him; just because she didn’t believe this was didn’t mean she trusted him, or that all his previous crimes were forgotten.

 

“You’re not a very trusting person, are you Natasha?” He said, smirking at how her nose twitched when he said her first name.

 

“I only give my trust to people who give me a reason,” she said, standing up, glock still trained on his mildly arrogant smile. “What’s with all the purple, anyways?” she said, walking over to a desk to find some handcuffs, him following her.

 

“Purple’s a manly color.” He shrugged and she cocked her head slightly, obviously confused by something. “What?” he asked.

 

“The shooting,” she said, “it’s stopped,” she ran past his shoulder to the windows, him on her heels.

 

“I’ll give you a reason,” he said after a moment of looking out the windows in silence.

 

“What?” she said absent-mindedly, looking out the windows for the attackers who’d suddenly disappeared.

 

“Maria.” He said and she turned to look at him,

 

“What—?” But he was already gone. “Goddamn it.” She muttered, noticing a shadow on the building next door.

 

She walked down the hall as the smoke cleared, sirens echoing all around her. She came down the front steps, dirt on her face, and blood dripping down her neck from where the arrow had caught her ear. Her clothes were tattered, and her lungs burned when they took in the cold, autumn air. She looked all around, eyes aching from the sudden light, of both emergency vehicles and the bright sun.

 

Camera crews were all around, the noise like a dull roar as she began to think. What could he have been talking about? What went through his head? What was his plan?

 

Who was he fighting?

 

“ _Natasha!_ ” Someone called, and she was practically tackled by Steve, followed by Tony bearing his illusive worried face.

 

“Tasha, are you okay, what happened?” He asked, Steve examining her ear.

 

“Where’s Maria?” she said suddenly, remembering what the vigilante had said to her, “Where is she?” she snapped and her partners shared a confused look.

 

“She’s over there with a paramedic, why—?” Tony began but she was already gone.

 

“Maria!” she called and found her friend on a stretcher, getting lifted into an ambulance. She ran towards the truck.

 

The paramedic let her on without question and she sat down next to Maria and took her hand. “Maria?” She asked softly as the truck began to move.

 

“Natt?” She opened her eyes blearily, “Natt, is that you?”

 

“Yeah, it’s me, I’m here,” she nodded, scooting closer to the stretcher, “what happened, Maria?”

 

“It was him,” she said hazily, “he saved me,”

 

“Who did?” Natasha leaned closer, “Maria who did? Who saved you?”

 

“Hawkeye,” she said softly, slipping out of consciousness.

 

Natasha looked up at the paramedic, “What happened to her?”

 

“So far as we can tell, she got hit in the head with something pretty hard, and something even larger fell on top of her, collapsing her lung.” He said, writing things down on a clipboard, “Someone fixed the collapsed lung before she was brought out of the building.”

 

Natasha looked down at her friend in wonder, “Whoever brought her down to the steps and helped her lung was a real hero,” he said, and Natasha looked back up at him, still holding her friend’s hand, “I don’t know what would’ve happened if that hadn’t gotten her to us that soon.”

She brushed a piece of hair off Maria’s forehead and looked down at her worriedly, “She’s gonna be fine now though, right?”

“Yeah, whoever did that, practically saved her life.” 

She frowned, mulling over all the information she’d learned today. _I’m not your enemy, Natasha,_ his words echoed in her ears. She didn’t know if she trusted him, but she owed him one. And if _he_ isn’t her enemy,

Then who is?


	6. Echoes in the City

"We've gotta find this guy." Tony said. His leg twitched from where he sat on Steve's desk.

"I agree." Steve nodded, holding his chin in his hand and frowning from the swivel chair next to his partner. They watched the people around them, the blood on Tony's collar and the stiches above Steve's brow showing under the lights.

Everything was being fixed up around them. Lights would still spark every once and a while, and the pair of detective looked like they had neither washed nor slept in three days.

"Where's Tasha?" Tony said softly, suddenly noticing the absence of their leader.

"She looking next door," Steve said in a quieter tone, "where the shooting came from."

"How does she do that?" Tony asked after a moment.

"Do what?" Steve lifted his chin from his hand and looked up at his friend slowly.

"Just," Tony lifted his hand and then let it fall out of tired exasperation, "keep going." He said, turning away from the windows to look at Steve, "I mean, it _just_ happened yesterday, how is she just able to start investigating, how does she just keep going like that?"

Steve sighed, turning back to the people, and putting his chin back in his hand, "Because it's all she knows how to do."

* * *

Natasha stepped into the empty studio and walked slowly over to the windows. The glass on cement crackled under her shoes. She stopped at the frames, looking out across the alley to the precinct. She put her hands slowly into her pockets.

Her face was blank and expressionless, looking out at the destruction emotionlessly. CSIs moved around the space behind her, beat cops moving through them and offering help. Their noise became muffled in her ears. She went through the list of twelfth precinct men and women currently in the hospital. Five were already dead, and she wondered how many there would be in the end.

"Hey, Tasha." A voice said, a man walking up besides her.

"Hi Rhodey." She said, her voice hoarse.

"Were you there?" He asked, looking at the precinct in the same empty way she was.

"Yeah." She said. Their conversation was stunted; short, but noticeable pauses between questions and responses.

"You must be pretty shell-shocked, huh?" He said, glancing at her.

"I guess." She said.

"I can't believe the vigilante would do something like this—I can't believe _anyone_ would do something like this," he shook his head slowly, "all those calls about shots fired, they were all fake, all dead ends."

"I know." She said, still keeping her gray-eyed stare fixed on the building across the alley.

"Sam is in the hospital." He said after a moment, looking down at the floor and scuffing the glass.

"What?" she asked, turning to look at him.

"Yeah," Rhodey nodded, looking up at her, "arrow to the upper arm," he held up his hand, index and thumb about and inch apart, " _this_ close from hitting a vital artery."

She sighed and turned back to the window, crossing her arms as she went. "I don't think this was him, Rhodey."

"The Archer?" he said, frowning.

She nodded, "I think he's being set up."

She watched her expression for a moment, "What's your evidence to back this up?" he asked slowly.

"There are twenty windows in this room, three of which are only facing a wall and two that are facing the evidence room, where hardly anyone works." She said, "That leaves only fifteen windows worth shooting out of, and that's about how many shooters I could count."

"Okay, so he could have partners, or other automated machines," Rhodey said, "s'not like we haven't seen those kinds of things before."

"Exactly." She said, "The people setting him up could've bought them just as easily."

"So what exactly are you saying?" He asked, and she just took a deep breath and continued staring out the window.

"I'm saying," she spoke softly after a moment, "I think the precinct got caught in the middle of a war, in which both sides are now trying to out the other in a negative light in the eyes of the city; make themselves a lesser evil."

Rhodey thought about this for a moment, looking down at the windowsill they stood in front of. "It's a war now," he said darkly, "isn't it."

She took a moment before she answered. "Yeah, it is." She sighed and straightened up, "as if hadn't had enough shit to deal with before." She began to walked out of the room. "The whole city has gone off the rails!" she called behind her.

"Well at least we got the best detectives working on it, right?" he smiled and she turned, smirking at him,

"The best police _force_ ," she said, "whoever these people are," she said, looking at all the individuals working around her, "they messed with the wrong precinct."

* * *

"We have to get this guy, no matter what." Sitwell slammed his fist down on the table, making Natasha flinch slightly.

Fury looked up the angry lieutenant as though her were a petulant child, the elbow that wasn't in a sling resting loosely on the table. Coulson sat across from Natasha, and other than a few scratches, he looked fine. She was glad; she quite liked talking to Phil. Next to him sat Bruce and Ian, who still looked as pale as a sheet.

"No shit, Sitwell." Fury said. "What the hell you think Romanoff, Rogers and Stark have been doing?"

"Not enough that's for sure!" He yelled and Tony straightened.

"Hey guess what Sitwell," he yelled, his voice rising, "while you've been sitting behind you computer with your head so far up your ass you could now wear the goddamn thing as a hat, _we've_ been doing _real_ detective work, you prick—"

"— _Tony!_ " Steve said, holding him back.

"—Maybe you should _try it sometime jackass!_ " Tony bellowed.

"Stark," Fury said forcefully, "take a walk before you set the goddamn room on fire."

Tony stormed out of the room, slamming the door and making Natasha flinch again. Fury and Steve made eye contacts.

"Go with him will you?" Fury said incredulously, waving Steve off, "I don't want him to break something."

Steve nodded and got up slowly, glaring deeply at Sitwell. After he left, Sitwell turned on Natasha.

"You got anything to say for yourself, Romanoff?" he snapped and she held her tongue.

She straightened, and folded her hands on the table. "What would you have us do, Sitwell?"

"I want you to catch this goddamn madman by any means necessary." He said simply.

"That's a _great_ plan Sitwell," she said facetiously, "you expect us to use lethal force on a guy we can't even find? That's really great thinking there, lieutenant."

"Well if you can't find him," he leaned down on the table, putting his face inches away from hers, "maybe we should get someone else to get the job _done_."

She stood up abruptly and he stumbled back slightly, surprised by her offensive move. She pushed her chair back and moved around the corner of the table to get closer to him. Everyone else around the table stood up as well, most of their hands moving to their holsters. Fury just sat further back in his chair.

"Listen, jackass," she said stepping close to him, "I can take you whining your sorry ass off about your pride, and taking up all our time."

He stared bravely back at her but held his tongue. "I can even take you purposefully poking at my hot-headed partner until you pop his bubble." She was now speaking in a darkly soft tone, "But what I will not stand for is you criticizing my team's almost _spotless_ record, and our efforts in finding this man, and bringing him to justice."

"Almost." He said challengingly.

"What?" she said pointedly.

" _Almost_ spotless record." He said.

There was a pause, before she grabbed the collar of his cheap suit and threw him against the table. The wooden tabletop moved slightly, making a loud noise. All the officers in the room pulled their guns and even Fury stood.

"Alright that's enough!" Fury said, and Natasha waited a moment before throwing him away, and letting him stand.

She stood at the head of the table and looked at her captain, breathing heavily. She rolled her shoulders and spoke defiantly, "You know what, Captain? I think I'm going to get some air too." She threw one last glare at Sitwell and then left after her partners.

Sitwell straightened his jacket and turned to Fury. "That team is made of crazy people." He said, breathing heavily.

Fury looked at him incredulously, "I oughta slap you." He said and Sitwell looked taken aback. "They're the only ones who can solve this case, Sitwell, now shut _the hell up_ and _sit down_."

She walked to the elevators to find a consoling Steve and a still fired up Tony arguing with each other. Steve was facing her so he noticed their third partner first. She walked over to them and Tony unclenched his fists.

"They kick you out too?" Tony asked gruffly and she shook her head.

"No, I excused myself."

"I expect it was as dramatic as usual." Steve teased and she laughed.

"Sitwell sure thought so." She smiled.

"I'm going to fucking punch him—" Tony began again.

"—Whatever," she said, putting a hand on either of their shoulders, "We just need to figure out what's going on."

"Yah, and then we get this guy," Tony said,

"And we subject him to a court of law for his crimes against this city and this precinct." Steve finished.

Tony nodded and they began to walk away back o the white board. Natasha looked down at her feet.

_"_ _I'm not your enemy, Romanoff,"_ her mind flashed back to his clear blue eyes, pleading with her, _"please, listen to me—I don't want to fight you."_

She turned and watched her friends move towards their desks, Steve throwing his arm over Tony's shoulder. _"Think,"_ she thought about how his eyes had flickered desperately back and forth between hers, _"I'm not you're enemy, Natasha,"_

Something about the way he said her first name, the way it rolled off his tongue so easily, made her almost want to believe him. She should tell the boys that she has an alibi for him. She should tell them that he was saving people in the precinct, not hurting them from the room next door. She should tell them he's not as guilty as he seems.

But Sitwell just made it very clear that if she doesn't catch him, she'll loose the only chance she has left of recapturing her humanity. So instead of being noble and slowing the witch-hunt of a partially innocent man, she chooses the rout of self-preservation, and catches up with her partners.


End file.
